Night Song
by Darth Tromeros
Summary: Steve keeps having recurring nightmares, nightmares that he can't seem to remember. At the same time, he finds himself thinking of her more often, wishing to see her smile, wishing he could hold her... and so it begins. Rated K plus at the current moment; could change.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: I'm not exactly sure what direction I'm heading. Could be a series of ficlets somehow strewn together. Hope you enjoy it, though. :)**

* * *

Steve's head rested on his pillow, his face covered with cold sweat. Another nightmare had come and gone. He couldn't ever remember what it was about; all he knew is that whatever he dreamed of made his heart race and his skin clammy. Sitting up, he put his feet on the ground. The ceiling fan blew cool air against his bare skin. Reaching over, he picked up the shirt that lay on the ground and pulled it over his head.

Going out into the living room of his apartment, he noted that it was three forty-two in the morning. He slid the glass doors in the corner of the room open, stepping out onto the tiny porch that overlooked the city. The street below hurt his ears like it always did, and he wondered how he was ever able to sleep here before.

Sighing, he rested his hands on the railing. He missed the New York he knew. He missed the life he once knew. Waking up was like becoming a whole new person, being born all over again but missing your childhood. The lights reflected in his eyes, making his smoky-colored irises seem to glitter. A light breeze blew through the air, ruffling his hair.

The shock and fear from the nightmare slowly wore away. He didn't know if this was shell shock or not. He didn't believe it was, but he had no clue what else it could be. Exhaling, he stepped back into his apartment, the sound of screeching tires and blaring horns muffled as he shut the door. Running his fingers through his hair, he went back to his room where he threw his shirt off and laid down.

He situated himself where he could stare out the window on the right side of the room that allowed the tops of the buildings and whatever part of the sky that slipped through the smog to be shown. Imagining what the sky would look like if the stars were brighter, he drifted back to sleep.

A face. A voice. A laugh. He jerked back up again, breathing heavily. His shoulder shuddering, he hunched over and put his hand over his face, crying softly to himself. As the tears rolled down his cheeks, the fragments he could remember from the dream went with it. He wished he could know what he was dreaming about, what was doing this to him. Slowly, his crying ceased, wiping the tears away from his eyes. His alarm clock said it was now five fifty-seven. He sat silently in his bed, staring at the clock as the numbers changed. As the clock displayed that it was six thirty-five, he got out of bed.

As he took his shower, he tried his hardest to recollect anything from his nightmares. Nothing came to him. After getting dressed and shaving, he went out and threw some bread in the toaster and made a bowl of cereal. His appetite seemed surprisingly small for him today. Something was bothering him, though. There was just something about those dreams that held on to his mind, and he was determined to know what it was.

Sighing to himself, he opened the door and headed out to another day at SHIELD.

* * *

He spotted her at his lunch time. She was finishing the last of her meal, standing up with her tray. Steve cautiously approached her. "Agent Romanoff?"

She turned around, her hair bobbing around her chin. "Steve," she said, glancing down his body and up again. "Do you need anything?"

He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask; he wasn't sure why he wasn't there in the first place. It was if he felt almost drawn to talk to her. "Um, were there any meetings I needed to attend today?" He felt his face get hot. He had never been great at making stories up on the spot.

"Not that I know of. What happened to your schedule?"

"I, uh, was just double checking." He nodded, as if approving himself of what he just said.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. Eyes going up and down his body once more, she said, "See you later then."

He nodded once more. She stared at him for a second longer before turning back around, dumping her tray of the excess trash and putting her tray away, and heading out of the room, her hips going back and forth as she walked.

Steve watched her leave.


	2. With the Grace

Pulling on the white shirt he always wore, he headed through the hallways to the gym. It was surprisingly empty where he was at; it must've been a slow day at SHIELD. Only an intern or two passed by him. Steve stopped by the door to reach over and tie his shoe that was slowly becoming undone when he heard grunts and kicks coming from the gym.

Holding his head up to listen better, he waited a few seconds before finishing the knot and going inside. He peeked his head around and saw a small figure punching and kicking furiously at a dummy. It was her. His heartbeat seemed to quicken as he watched her fight the dummy. She was giving it all she had. Her arms and legs seemed to be moving faster than the sound of the impact; as one hit would ring out, her leg would already be kicking its side. She stopped for a moment, breathing heavily and pulling her back, wiping her sweaty face with the back of her hand. Getting back into fighting position, she threw an arm out again, swinging her leg out and knocking it over as she twirled through the air.

Something about the way she fought was graceful. While others fought in rougher and grittier ways, the way she balanced herself on her feet and timed everything just right seemed as if it was almost rehearsed, like she knew exactly what was going to happen.

Steve felt his face go hot again as he realized he shouldn't be watching. He wondered to himself if he should just announce he was there and if he could join her, but he didn't know if that was okay or not. Engrossed in his little internal battle, he almost didn't hear her.

"I can see you, you know."

He flinched as her voice pierced through his thoughts. She wasn't looking at him; instead, she was punching at the dummy that was now standing upright again. Her hits were much slower this time. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "Why are you here?"

"I was just going to practice."

The small grin from lunch came back to her lips. "Feel free to join. I was just finishing up."

He merely nodded, watching her as bent over to grab a water bottle a few feet away from where she was previously standing. He observed the way her clothes fit around her; it was strange seeing her in an outfit other than the SHIELD uniform. Her tank top still squeezed her waist, flaunting her curves in the same way her uniform did, but it was much looser at the top, the fabric bunched up at her shoulders. His eyes moved down to her legs; everything under her gym shorts was bare. He wasn't used to seeing her legs, but they were strong and muscular, and he knew that she could take anyone down, no matter what her size.

"Are you going to work out?"

He shook away his thoughts once again and looked at her. Inquiry was displayed on her face, but humor was in her eyes, as if she knew what he was thinking about and she was used to it.

"Yeah," he answered. He moved towards the mat as she left. Glancing at him one last time, she left. He could've sworn he saw a smirk on her lips.


	3. Another Nightmare Come and Gone

As the sky turned into a deep orange and then into a spectacular display of colors, Steve found himself growing afraid.

It was funny, really; he was Captain America. He shouldn't be afraid. He had been nervous before, but to be afraid of falling asleep?

He stared out the glass door that led to his balcony, his untouched dinner growing cold. Not one muscle moved as he studied the way the different shades of the sky seemed to intermix with each other and suddenly wished he were a painter as well as a drawer. It couldn't hurt to try one day, he concluded to himself. Standing up, he picked the tray up and threw everything away, dumping the plate in a sink.

It was only seven thirty. Steve sighed to himself. He couldn't go to sleep this early.

He leaned over his left arm, which was placed on the counter. There was so much he could do, but nothing that seemed particular. Maybe I'm assimilating to today's culture, he told himself, smiling bitterly.

* * *

It came the time for him to sleep. He made vain attempts at comforting his self, shakily taking his shirt off and sliding under the covers. Trying his best to forget all his worries, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, focusing on other things.

Time slipped by. It was three hours later when he opened his eyes again, breathing heavily, and his body shaking. He sat up, his throat tight. He threw his arm out to the side, clumsily hitting the lamp on his side table before finally turning it on. He sat there, frozen, sheer panic displayed in everyway. His breathing slowed and the shaking stopped. As he thought everything was alright, he suddenly let out a sob.

He hated crying. Especially over something he wasn't even sure of. Something that most likely wasn't worth crying over.

Getting out of his bed, he stumbled out of his room, his legs feeling wobbly. He went across the hall and into the bathroom, where he flipped the light switch, the light almost blinding him. The mirror reflected a face with messy blonde hair and red eyes. He looked away, not liking what he saw. Since when was he so weak? Turning on the faucet, he splashed some water onto his face, stray droplets hitting the bathroom floor. Hands and face dripping, he wiped them on a towel almost ready to fall off the rack.

He went out to the living room where he stood in front of the glass door. New York was so vast and big, unlike his tiny apartment. Not that he minded how small his living area was; no, he didn't mind how big it was, as long as he could properly live in it.

The lights from the city shone brightly. His eyes were slowly adjusting as he stared at the sight. Inside, the fear was slipping away and was being replaced by a sense of loneliness and claustrophobia. He felt so trapped yet so secluded living in the future. Or the present, really. Nothing was the same. Technology, buildings, entertainment—even the girls.

Suddenly a new sadness had dawned on him; instead of the sadness you get when you're terrified that something wouldn't end, it was the sadness that he couldn't change anything. The upset from the nightmare was overwhelmed by this new feeling.

He knew that SHIELD was there to help him; maybe he could even try going out and making some new friends, possibly a more romantic relationship. Hope flittered in him for a second before vanishing again. It wouldn't change that fact that he could never see his friends again or the old New York. And Peggy.

His throat tightened again. Peggy. Eyes burning, he turned away from the glass door and looked down at his feet. He had thought that maybe he found a girl that actually like him—and not for being Captain America, either. He thought that maybe Peggy liked him as the little guy, that she didn't look down on him like all the other girls. But all of that had vanished. Just within a few seconds that turned out to be decades.

In his empty apartment, he felt alone.


	4. She Notices

**A/N: Sorry these are so short. I don't really want to make them lengthy; just individual little scenes. I promise a plot will actually form soon.**

* * *

She acted like she didn't notice him come into the room. Waiting a few seconds, she glanced over at him, seeing his muscular build and nicely combed hair in the corner of her eye. A sudden feeling of attraction came to her. She had never noticed it before.

Never noticed it but for one time.

Drumming her fingers on the table, she tilted her head so that she was facing him better, observing the way his muscles brushed against his shirt. They were easily visible; you could almost see the ripples of his arms as he grabbed and moved things around.

He looked over towards her direction. Quickly she looked away, flipping her hair as if she were just looking mindlessly around the room.

The meeting started. She had the file opened in front of her, but she found it hard to focus. Her thoughts kept meandering to Steve; his enchanting smile, his gorgeous eyes. She glanced over at him again, hoping that somehow he'd be smiling. Or at least in a position where she could see his irises.

Feeling foolish, she looked back at her folder. She scolded herself internally, forgetting all thoughts of being attracted to him. It only ended with regret and unhappiness.

Yet she found her sight again going to him. This time, he was staring back. Their gaze locked. She panicked internally, forgetting all her cool attitude, but she stayed indifferent outside, not looking away. Steve didn't break away either; instead, a small smile formed on his lips, one that seemed humorous, as if they were both thinking the same thing and this was such a coincidence that they looked at each other at the same time and all was well.

Natasha looked away first, back down to her file as they moved on to a new subject in the meeting. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Steve's head move as well, but it looked like he was still smiling. She suddenly felt self-conscious. What was he smiling at? Was something wrong?

She scanned her body, but nothing was found. Hoping it wasn't her face, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

What if he was smiling at _her? _Nobody smiled at her. Natasha was an agent, an assassin—pretty much serious. He couldn't be possibly smiling _at _her.

But there's always a first for everything.

She smiled.


	5. He Saw

He saw her.

It was just a glance; nothing more.

Or maybe it was.

He knew he shouldn't be feeding himself such hopeful things; he didn't even know if he liked her in that way yet. Saving the world isn't necessarily the thing that brings couples together.

But he saw her.

And that mattered to him… somewhat.


	6. The Artist Picks Up His Pencil Again

Steve was tired of seeing the red numbers. He got out of bed and unplugged his alarm clock, knowing that in the morning he would regret it. But the number just stood out so plainly, mocking him and his sleeplessness and bad dreams.

He had had another one. As he wiped the remains of his tears away from his face, he forced himself to think of something else as this dream slipped away into nothingness with the rest. His mind drifted back to Natasha earlier at the meeting. He smiled at the thought, all his bad emotions evaporating. When he saw Natasha, he felt instantly happy. There was something about the way she walked, something about the way her fingers messed with her hair, something about her that he didn't even know how to explain.

His eyesight suddenly drifted to a notepad sitting on his wardrobe. He went over to it, picking it up. Nothing had been written on it. It seemed to be begging him to write or draw or do whatever on it. Steve stared at it for a few moments, turning it over in his hand. He hadn't drawn since who knows when. Taking a breath, he went to side table by his bed and opened the door, getting a pencil. Turning on the lamp, he sat down on the bed and nervously placed the pencil on the paper.

There was a face haunting his mind. A face that persisted to stay, refusing his requests for it to leave. And the only way to get rid of it, at least for a moment, was to draw it.

He didn't know where it was from. He didn't even know what it was yet. It was just a face.

Moving the pencil around, he drew the edges of the face. He wasn't used to drawing portraits; much less ones without anybody to use as a guideline. He just had to trust himself to know how high to draw the cheekbone, exactly how the chin was rounded, the way the hair fell around the face, how the eyes were shaped.

The pencil stroked the paper, the face becoming more prominent. Suddenly everything seemed more familiar, easier to draw. He went with it, finishing the rough sketch and filling everything in, shading darker areas.

Pleased with what he had so far, he went on to draw a body. Memories flooded his mind as he drew. Memories he wasn't aware were there until he noticed what he was drawing.

He stopped suddenly, staring at the figure. The body seemed poised and ready for anything, the face matching with a determined yet humorous expression.

Steve scanned the drawing. The elbows were pointed at a sharp curve, fists clenched. The legs were spread out in a fighting stance. The waist was skinny, yet the overall figure was strong.

He set the notepad down beside him on the bed after a few moments, turning the lamp on and settling back into bed. He wished he knew exactly how long he had stayed up, but didn't feel like checking other clocks.

Soon he fell asleep, his mind clear of any nightmares. Beside him the drawing sat. The morning sun rose, shining its light onto his sheets and the picture.

The drawing looked just like Natasha.


	7. Three Weeks

The days slowly crept into weeks. Three weeks, to be exact.

Three weeks of sleepless nights.

Three weeks of a feeling that Steve didn't understand.

Three weeks until the day Steve finally did something.

* * *

To be precise, it started the day when Steve ran into Natasha at the cafeteria again. He got his food, and saw her, walking by herself. He was overwhelmed by an urge to go talk to her. When he finally caught up with her, she glanced over. "Need anything Steve?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to eat with me."

"Why?" was her immediate response.

He shrugged. "I'm alone, and excuse me for saying this, but it appears you are too."

Natasha looked away and pursed her lips. Steve was afraid he had offended her when she said, "Sure, why not?"

They sat down at a table, across from each other. Steve noticed that she was eating a salad again, the same thing she ate every time he saw her eat. "Natasha, do I ever… annoy any of you with me being so behind with everything?"

Natasha glanced up at him. "No, no. If anybody's annoying, it's Tony. Or even Clint," she added with a sly smile.

"That's a relief to hear," Steve said. "I'm always afraid I'm just bugging people with my questions."

"You can't help it," Natasha said. "You weren't around for everything."

"But I'm like a small child."

Natasha's smiled remained on her face. "Yeah, I guess you can make that comparison. But trust me, you're not annoying."

Steve observed her smile. Her skin creased around the corners of her mouth in a nice way. "You have a great smile," Steve blurted.

Natasha looked up at him. "Excuse me?"

Steve felt his face go red. "I, uh…."

Her smile grew as he stumbled over his words. "Steve, I'm not mad or anything. That was sweet."

He gave an embarrassed grin. "It really is. I don't get to see you smile often and I like it when you do."

"That's because I usually don't have much to smile over."

"That's too bad."

She looked down at her food, picking some of the salad up with her fork. "It really is, isn't it?" Her gaze switched back to Steve. "We should try to change that."

That sentence changed everything.

* * *

That night, when another nightmare attacked and he lay wide-awake, he found himself thinking of her smile. He grabbed his notepad again, sketching out the way he lips curved and skin creased, going on to draw her whole face. When he had finished, she stared up at him. It had a few mistakes; one eye was a tad bit larger than the other, the nose was too pointy, and a few tinier ones.

He tore the page off and put it in his drawer with everything else, covering up the first picture of Natasha he had drawn.

Over the next few nights, that was what he did. He spent countless hours drawing her, exhausted the next day but happy. His pile grew quickly, each one different. There were pictures of her punching and kicking assailants he never drew; some of her sitting quietly, no expressions visible on her face; ones where her eyes were slightly closed, mouth opened in laughter. Of course, he could only imagine what she looked like when she was laughing. He realized he had never heard her laugh.

A sudden desire to hear it built up in him. What would ever make her laugh? What did it sound like?

He made a vow to himself that he would indeed hear it even if he didn't know how to make it happen.

* * *

As his pictures grew better, internal feelings grew stronger. He talked to her daily now, intoxicated on the way she spoke, the way she moved. He noticed her skin looked soft although she was so tough. He wanted to run his fingers on her arm, hold her face in his hand, caress her cheek and see her smile.

He would scold himself every time he thought like that. It isn't appropriate, he would tell himself. Besides, if she doesn't feel the same way back, you're setting yourself for heartache.

Growing sad, he realized women never felt the same way back.

The only one that did slipped through his fingers.

* * *

He watched her in the gym (with her permission, that is). She demonstrated her power. She never stumbled as she flipped through the air, throwing punches and kicking her leg around. He wondered what it would be like to hold her. Could you feel her strength? Would she be as lean as she looks?

He chased the thought out of his mind as she asked him for the fourth time if he wanted a go.

* * *

It was driving him insane. He hadn't felt like this since… Peggy. His heart hurt just thinking of her name. Was it the best idea to get rid of an old love by chasing after a new one?

Did he love Natasha?

The clock was shining in its usual arrogant way. One forty-three it read.

He had been thinking of her since eleven sixteen.

* * *

Three weeks.

It took him three weeks to gather the courage to confront Natasha.

He found her passing through a hallway.

"Natasha!"

She turned around and smiled. "Hi, Steve! Do you need anything?"

He stepped closer to her, leaving a foot between them. "Would you, um, ever like to, uh, go anywhere… with, er, me?"

Her grin widened. "Of course. Friday at six, I'll meet you at your apartment."

"Sounds like a plan." He gave her a grin back.

"I have to go talk to someone. See you then." She waved and left.

He let out a breath. It was happening finally.

That night when he went to sleep, he had another nightmare. This one, though, vanished quickly. After a minute or two, Steve fell right back to sleep.

The notepad remained untouched.


	8. Her Smile: First Date Part 1

Steve didn't know how to prepare for a date.

He searched through his closet and tried to find the nicest clothes possible. He didn't want to tell anybody about this. He wanted it to just be between him and Natasha, and knowing her, she probably wasn't flaunting it either.

It seemed to be a race against the clock on Friday night as he tried to look his best. He spent an hour just combing his hair back and forth, trying to figure out which way looked the best. Making sure all his shirts were buttoned on the right button and straightening his jacket, he took a deep breath when he heard a knock on his door.

Natasha stood there in a simple black dress that came to her knees. Nothing fancy, but certainly not casual. "Wow," Steve gasped as he noticed how her hair curled around the frame of her face. "You look stunning. Not that you usually don't," he added quickly. He felt his face go red. "You're… just… even more… stunning…."

She smiled at him. "I get it, Steve."

"Sorry, talking to women is not my strong spot," he apologized.

"It's fine. I think it's sort of cute."

Their gazes interlocked. Her smile softened. "Well, then, let's go out to dinner," Steve said, looking away after a few seconds.

"Of course."

He closed his apartment door and looked at Natasha. "Er, do I wrap my arm around yours, or…?"

She giggled. "No, it's fine. You can just walk."

"You'll have to teach me everything," Steve said, a bit embarrassed. "I've never actually asked a girl to go on an outing with me."

"Gladly," she said, tilting her head. Her earrings dangled.

He led her to his car, opening the door for her. As he got in the driver's seat, she looked over at him. "I wish men still had chivalry like you these days."

He felt his face go red again. "That's not an old gesture?"

"Not at all. Keep doing it. It makes a girl feel good."

Steve backed up, Natasha watching him closely. She knew how nervous he must feel. It flattered her that he acted like this. Usually the men she went out with were arrogant and tried to impress her; Steve already proved himself opposite. Even when he asked her.

They pulled up to a restaurant. She had seen it before. It wasn't outrageously fancy; it was more of a higher priced restaurant that fit the current occasion perfectly. Steve opened Natasha's door and helped her out, walking with her to the door. As they waited to be seated, Steve attempted to fix his tie. It remained lopsided. He sighed, frustrated.

"Do you need help with your tie?"

Steve looked up at Natasha and back down. "A little."

"I've tied more ties that I can count," Natasha told him as he turned to her. She untied the tie and wrapped it around his neck again, her fingers brushing against his face slowly. He shivered a little as her fingers slid against his skin, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was intentional. They lingered on his face a little too long.

He looked at Natasha, but she showed no change of emotion on her face. He brushed the idea off as she fixed his tie. "There you go," she told him, tightening it.

"Thanks," he told her.

"No problem." She smiled again, the same smile she had been giving him.

"Why do you smile like that?" Steve asked, hoping that it wasn't too rude of a question.

She didn't seem to take offense to it, as the smile remained. "Like what?"

Steve thought over it for a few seconds. "It's like you know a secret that I don't know. Not a bad secret, but a good secret, like you have a present for me or something and when you see me you're reminded of it and you can't help but smile. If that made any sense."

"It did," Natasha told him. She paused. "Sort of."

He gave a bashful grin.


	9. Observations: First Date Part 2

Steve couldn't help but notice how everything she did, every move she made, went together fluidly, almost as if they were well rehearsed.

Her legs were crossed, one on top of the other and slanted underneath the table. Her skin was pale, but not an unattractive, sickly color. Steve observed her fingernails, which she somehow kept looking nice though she was an agent. He wanted to ask her how she did it, but he decided not too.

Before, Steve had never noticed specifics. It was always generalizations. Things like that girl has light brown hair and that one his green eyes. But with Natasha, it was different. He was picking up on things he wasn't sure anybody even paid attention too. Like the way her wrist was curved as she ate, how slow her eating pace was, and so on. It sort of embarrassed him. He felt as if he were going a bit too far, seeing things he shouldn't be taking note of, but he couldn't help but too.

To distract himself, he took up looking at her earrings. It was a little cascade of diamonds. Real or not, they sparkled and were captivating.

But no matter how fascinating they were they didn't beat Natasha.

He wanted to ask her how she managed to be the top. She wanted to know if she was ever treated differently since she was a woman—after all, that's what it was like with Peggy.

Peggy. He grew sad inside.

"So, Steve, how's the 21st century been for you?"

His thoughts stopped abruptly and turned to her. "Confusing, overwhelming, but not entirely bad."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, not the last part."

"Honestly, it wasn't until recently it got good."

"Really? When would that be?" She brought her wine glass to her lips, looking over it at him, her earrings dangling to the side.

Steve gave her a sheepish smile and shook his head.

"So you won't tell me." She set her glass down.

"It's not that…."

"But you don't _want _to tell me."

"I… uh…."

She smiled the same mysterious smile she always did. "Its fine, Steve. Nothing wrong with a little sleuthing to figure it out."

It scared him when she said that. Not only could she sleuth, but she could do more.

He kept the same smile on his face, picking up a piece of his steak with his fork. "Okay, Natasha."

He prayed that she didn't take that as a challenge.

She didn't stop smirking as she finished her meal.

"Steve, you seemed easily embarrassed."

"What?" he asked. "I, uh…." His face grew red as if the prove her statement.

She seemed to be repressing a laugh. "Don't worry, Steve."

"Is there anything I should worry about? You tell me not to worry a lot."

"You just seem to make a fuss out of things that aren't that big of a deal. Like not knowing how to walk a woman to a car or something."

That didn't stop him from blushing. "I…."

"Oh, Steve, I didn't mean to embarrass you any more."

"I'm not embarrassed," he murmured.

"Steve." She said his name in an accusing tone.

He glanced up at her, blinking. "What?" he said, in a childlike innocence.

The serious look on her face flickered and transformed into a wide smile. "Nothing, nothing."

He grinned back.


	10. Stars: First Date Part 3

Even though he was driving, Steve was distracted by the sky. There wasn't much to see; the bright lights of New York and the smog from the area drowned out the constellations and planets.

"You're quiet," Natasha said.

He glanced over at her. "I was just thinking about the sky," he told her.

Her head turned to her window. "There really isn't one," she said.

"That's what I was thinking," he said. "I remember when I was growing up seeing the stars being so much brighter; well, actually visible. It's kind of sad when I can't look up at the same part of the sky that I did when I was a child and not being able to see the same things."

She was now looking down at her lap. "The stars are sort of my safety blanket," she started. "I've been training since I was young to be an agent. In Russia they looked one way, and then I was taken away and they looked different. But no matter where I went, they were always there and they were just comforting, I guess. It was like no matter how many people I lost or how many times I moved around they were just watching me."

Steve silently listened to her. It was interesting that she was being so open, especially with him when they hadn't even really started speaking to each other until a few weeks ago.

"And then, one day it was the last time I looked at the stars."

"What happened?" He instantly shut his mouth after the words were out, as if he crossed some line he wasn't suppose too with that question.

She didn't look up at him. "I was sitting on a roof somewhere in India, just looking at the sky. There was no wind, nobody around; just me and the buildings below. The next day I was sent on a new mission. When night settled that next day, I looked up at the sky, but they weren't there. To be honest, I was scared. They had always kept me calm, and now in the face of danger for the millionth time they were gone. When I started panicking, I told myself to get over it. And I never looked at the stars again."

He was clueless on how to respond. "I…."

"You don't have to say anything." She lifted her head up, her scarlet hair falling in front of her eyes.

"No, I just… I don't know what to say, but I want to say… something."

"It's better if you don't. I thought I was over it, but maybe I'm just missing them a tad bit."

Steve didn't say anything. He just absorbed what she had said, still in disbelief that she had trusted him that much. He was sure she hadn't even told Clint that. He didn't know if he was supposed to return it with something personal, or just keep quiet the rest of the ride. The silence was broken by Natasha again.

"Did you ever stargaze?" she asked. "I came name you all the constellations."

"I'm a little rusty," he responded. "I can tell you a few."

"Sometime we'll have to go find a spot where you can see the stars and just find them together." She gave him a warm smile.

He returned the grin. "I would like that."

They arrived at his apartment building. "Would you like to come inside?" he asked her.

She nodded and took his arm before he could take hers. Feeling his face get warm again, he led her up to his apartment and shut the door behind them. "It's not much, I know," Steve said quickly as she looked around. "I know I'm not as rich as Tony, but you know, home." He gave a bashful smile.

"Steve, you're worrying again. I think it's cozy." She smiled again, placing a hand on a counter. Her eyes went to the glass door covered by blinds. "What's that?"

He turned to the door. "Oh, that's my little balcony. It really helps me think."

She headed towards it, pulling back the blinds. "May I?"

He nodded as she slid the door open and stepped on to the small terrace. The lights from below made her eyes sparkle. "I come out here at night when I can't sleep," he told her. "It's really not anything."

"I think it's rather nice up here." A moderate wind blew her hair back. As she turned to face him, strands of her hair whipped her face. "Steve, I've had a nice night."

"I'm glad. I have too."

She smiled her mysterious smile and turned back to face the city below.

"It's sort of chilly up here," Steve commented.

She shrugged. "I'm always warm."

"I am too, but even I can acknowledge that this wind is nippy."

"I guess you could say that."

Steve stepped closer to her, now just a few inches away. She stood up straighter, her head brushing his shoulder. Goosebumps formed on his arms as she closed her eyes and stayed close to him. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her even closer, but he didn't know if that was inappropriate.

After what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes again and turned around to face him. "I guess I'll be going now," she told him. "We should do this again."

"Agreed," he said.

She smiled at him as she left the balcony. "See you tomorrow." Their gazes locked for a second before she turned and shut the door behind her.

Steve looked up at the sky again. He could've sworn he saw something twinkle.


	11. That Night

That night Steve went to sleep.

He didn't worry.

He wasn't scared.

He thought of Natasha.

And that night he had a sweet dream.

If only he could remember what it was in the morning.


	12. Sketches

**A/N: I'm going to try to start picking up speed here, so this might be skipping a lot of weeks at a time.**

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing though! :)**

* * *

He remembered them one day by accident.

Trying to find where he put his cologne, he dug through all his drawers at his home. As he flung open his side table drawer, he froze. Slowly and carefully, he picked up the papers, surveying them. Flipping through them, he guessed there were at least twenty.

Somehow they were all different. She wore a different expression, did different things. He had captured her in familiar positions, captured her doing things he had never seen her do before. Looking back at his own drawings didn't seem right; it was more like he was looking into something he shouldn't have been doing before and feeling guilty.

But something was gnawing on the back of his mind; just a simple thought. It stayed on his mind for a few minutes.

Then he was out the door.

* * *

He was hesitant, that was for sure. There had only been one occasion where he had been to Natasha's apartment, and that was about a week ago when she had asked him to help move some stuff around since she was redecorating.

When she had asked, he was a bit too quick to say yes, but she seemed not to notice. She had a very nice living space; her apartment seemed very chic. It really matched her suaveness. He was probably there longer than he should have been, considering when he got there it was eleven and when he left it was five and the work should have only taken them about two hours.

The rest of the time seemed to be taken up by conversations about silly things such as pet peeves and how annoying Tony Stark was and the lights of New York and how egotistical Tony Stark was and SHIELD and that Tony Stark.

He had enjoyed himself a lot, actually. It was nice after their date three weeks previous. It was almost like a second date in itself.

Steve was standing in front of her apartment door, hand curled up in the fist, hanging a few inches away from her door. He didn't want to interfere with anything, and he wondered whether or not his question was too silly; finally, he knocked, and she answered almost immediately.

"Oh, hi Steve. What are you doing here?" She opened the door more and leaned against it, her arms crossed and eyes inquisitive.

"Um…." He scratched the back of his head. "Would you mind if I drew you?"

She tilted her head. "Drew me?"

"Yeah. I, uh, like to draw but I don't know what to draw and, um, I thought maybe thought drawing somebody I knew was good practice…."

She stared at him for a few seconds until a small smile spread on her lips. "Come on in," she told him.

* * *

It was silent in the apartment as Natasha looked over his picture. He couldn't read her expression; she just ran her fingers over it. "Steve…." Her voice was quiet.

"I'm a little rusty—"

"It's… beautiful." She looked up at him. "Too beautiful."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean? This is amazing."

Steve paused for a moment. "I couldn't capture everything."

"And what do you mean by that?"

He hesitated. "This might sound a bit… strange, I guess, but I've been trying to capture you. You're so intriguing. I've been drawing and drawing and drawing but never able to get you right. There are so many parts too you—your personality, your voice, your thoughts, your movements—that I will never be able to pin down because it's just a drawing. But even then I can't get it down in real life. You're an enigma."

Natasha didn't say anything at first. Then he felt her lips on his cheek. "Thanks, Steve." She smiled at him.

Steve's heart beat quicker as he noticed how close they were and how intimate the moment seemed. Panicking, he blurted, "I've never heard your laugh."

She froze, making him regret what he said. Was that too much?

"I guess there's just not much to laugh about." She gave a sad smile.

"We'll have to fix that then."

Nodding, she answered, "Indeed."

They sat silently, overlooking his picture. She was sitting sideways, her legs crossed and hair cascading in beautiful curls around her face. Her body was posed in a way that was hard to describe; like a vague, yet compelling position. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyebrows raised, her eyes sparkling with some thought that was hidden to the rest that were observing.

The picture blew Natasha away, when in all honesty, the fact that that was only a portion of what Steve could capture blew him away. She just couldn't understand how exactly he felt about her; how he wished he could decipher the essence of Natasha Romanoff.

But he was just an artist.

"Did you say you have more pictures of me?"

Steve was jerked back into reality. He looked over at her and started blushing profusely. "You seemed like the best subject."

"I'm not creeped out or anything, don't worry."

"I just need to stop worrying, don't I?"

"It's always helped me." She smiled.

Silence overtook them again as some glance passed between them. It was an indescribable look, but whatever it was it made a tingle go up Steve's spine. She was looking so nice then, her beauty simply overtaking him, and he just wanted too hold her close and—

"I think I'll be going now," Steve said, standing up and heading to the door.

She followed him. "Hey, Steve, before you leave, I just wanted to ask if you would like to go somewhere with me Saturday?"

He grinned. "I would love too."


	13. A Breezy Fall Day

**Hi guys! I'm so, so sorry I haven't updated any of my stories in over a month. I've been super busy lately with student council, band, debate, and a musical. This is the last day of my four-day breather and I figured, why not update a fan fiction? So without further ado, here's chapter 13. :)**

* * *

It was breezy that day. Fall was coming in, so as Steve walked in the park, golden and burgundy leaves fell in his hair. Kids ran around on a playground and in the grass, parents close by but not really paying attention; lovers strolled, hands entwined, heads close together; excited dogs being walked by owners; an elderly couple here or there, sitting on a bench; and joggers, suits on and headbands wrapped around their forehead, passing by him.

SHIELD had somehow found a coat similar to the one he had had in the military. The wind blew the coat so it was trailing behind him, floating on air. Steve kept an eye out for Natasha, his blonde hair waving back with the wind. After a few minutes, a flash of red hair came into his view point. The head belonging to it turned, and he saw the sharp eyebrows and thin lips through her hair that was blowing wildly out of control. Steve, grinning, approached her. "It sure is windy today."

She was wearing a dark gray jacket with glossy black buttons and skinny ash colored jeans. Boots the same color as the buttons came up to her mid-thigh. She stood up, her arms crossed. "It is."

Steve observed her outfit. "You look very fashionable."

She attempted to not smile. "This? Nah."

"I think so." He held out his arm. "Shall we walk?"

Taking it, she answered, "Indeed."

They walked silently for a few moments. "Natasha, you always seem so calm."

"What do you mean by that?" She was looking at a tree as they walked passed it.

"Your voice is always just so gentle when you don't need to act harsh."

Her attention turned back to Steve. "That's a bad thing?"

"No, I'm not trying to say that. It's a bit, uh… disconcerting?" His smooth attempt to save himself failed.

She smiled again. "So what should we do about that?"

"We?"

She nodded. "We."

"Um… get you to act like you're having fun?"

"Do I not act like that?"

Steve felt this conversation was going the wrong way. "No… I mean, you say you do, but you're just always the same, and I'm so unsure if I did something right or not and then… I just… feel like… well, I don't know, but…." He paused, wondering if she even heard the rush of words.

"Steve, relax." She said it nicely. "You're not offending me."

He exhaled. "I'm not good with talking to women."

"It's fine." The conversation dropped there.

A few couples passed by them as they walked in silence. Steve watched them pass. They all had the same look on their faces; a dreamy, content look, as if they hadn't a worry in the world. They looked… _in love_. Not like people just claim they are, but actually in love. He looked down at Natasha, who, though a head shorter than him (not to mention the ability to beat him up), could be something more than what she is right now. Something like they were.

Wondering what it felt like, he thought back to Peggy. It hurt to breathe for a second. Did they love each other?

He stopped thinking about her when he felt like he was going to stop and cry and looked down at Natasha. Suddenly he felt warm, and all the bad feelings washed away and were replaced by new feelings; feelings he couldn't describe. He suddenly wanted to be one of those couples, holding hands and looking carefree.

He stopped himself.

"You're quiet," Natasha said.

"Oh, I was just… thinking."

"About what?"

"Um… Natasha, have you ever been in love?" he blurted. Her eyebrows were raised slightly in surprise. "Sorry, that was stupid," he said, trying to make sure he wasn't blushing again.

"I can't say," Natasha said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be Steve, it's okay." She looked at Steve and away again. "It's okay."

They walked a while longer until they came to the fountain. She stopped in front of it suddenly. Steve stopped as well when he saw she was no longer moving.

Staring into the fountain, Natasha spoke. "How do you define love?"

Steve shrugged. "How would I know? I've only kissed one girl in my life, and even then I wasn't in an actual relationship with her."

Natasha's eyes flickered. "I don't know how to answer your question then."

"You don't have too." He looked over at her for a brief second.

"Steve... I've, um… been hurt before. But I don't focus on it and I've given up on love in general, I guess."

He nodded, lips pursed.

Her arm left his before he felt it sliding down his arm and grabbing his fist. He unclenched it, fingers entwining with hers.

"But I'd be willing to try again."


	14. Eve and the Forbidden Fruit

She trusted him, no doubt of that.

But she wasn't sure if she trusted herself.

She was so used to being the strong one, the unemotional one, and so on and so forth that she didn't want to seem weak in front of him.

The truth is, she had been hurt. She fell in love at one time during her missions. She knew it was foolish, she knew it was basically an unwritten rule that agents are not allowed to do so, yet she did.

How did that saying go?

Oh yeah, love is blind.

And she let it blind her.

That's why she had been so resistant of Clint's advances and convinced herself that love was for children. It was so unprofessional.

Yet with Steve, her mind seemed to have been changed.

She knew he wouldn't care how weak she really was.

The problem? He would be there, and who knows what might happen.

* * *

The first time she had noticed him—_really _noticed him—was the day they were saving Manhattan.

When that thing had exploded, and he had shielded her, she had just seen him for a brief second before she turned and closed her eyes, and suddenly she felt the way she did when she was in love. She didn't know what made her feel like that; it just did.

And, unexpectedly, those feelings were back.

* * *

When she grabbed his hand, it was like Eve taking the forbidden fruit. She never realized how much she wanted him, and taking hold of him like that was giving in to this hidden temptation.

And now she felt she was ready to lose control.


	15. The Magic of Music

Steve really missed his record player.

Before the war, he would save up all the money he got. Every so often, he would go down to the record store and buy a few with the funds he kept for spoiling himself. He would play those records in his room and just lie on his bed and listen. Sometimes he would draw, sometimes he would read, and other times he would just think. They helped him relax after a stressful day or calm down when he was angry or cheer him up when he was feeling down.

It was one of those moments he wanted to hear Benny Goodman or Duke Ellington or George Gershwin or the rest playing from the corner of his room.

He gave a bitter smile as he remembered Bucky dragging him to a bunch of clubs. Although he never got a girl to dance with him (probably not so much due to the fact no girls liked him as he wouldn't get up from his seat a table), it was exciting to hear the band play live. When it was upbeat, everybody was smiling and their eyes were always glittering. When it was slow, they all got real close and quiet. It was almost magical to see how the music was affecting them. Sometimes he even caught Bucky and his date or even a random girl he had just met kissing in the middle of the floor or up against a wall.

As the memories ended, he sighed, his smile turning back into an unhappy frown. He remembered a record he had bought a few years before he joined the Army. It was a hit on the radio for weeks. Thinking back, it took him a while to remember it was called "I'll Never Smile Again".

He wished he could remember the tune better, but he could remember the gist of it. Attempting to hum the parts he could remember, he thought back to Natasha, and felt happy.

He couldn't help but think the song might apply to her.


	16. Music Lessons

"Hey, Natasha."

She turned around, her curls bobbing around her chin when she was facing him. "Anything new?" she asked.

Steve replied, "Well, I was going to ask you if you could help me with catching up with music."

Natasha gave a small grin. "I don't think you would like the music today, Cap. Besides, that would take a while."

"At least for a few decades?" he asked. "Tony said something about rock and roll. What's rock and roll? And heavy metal? And rap and—"

Natasha waved her hand to cut him off. "Yeah, maybe we should catch you up. I'll have to get others help on this, though."

"Thanks Nat."

Her expression lightened. "Anytime."

* * *

A few days later, there was a knock on his door. Steve opened it up to see Natasha there, a CD player tucked in one arm and a pile of CDs in the other. "Let's start with the late forties."

Steve opened the door wider for Natasha to come through. She came in, putting the CD player down on the counter.

"I could've helped you carry that up," he said, gesturing toward the CD player.

"It's fine," she said.

She plugged it in. "Now, I can't play you every song from every artist that's ever existed, but I do have the top songs from each year of each era on here, plus some."

"And how did you manage to do that?"

"The internet." She smiled. "You're going to have fun with that."

"Tony's showed me some," he murmured. "My head hurts just thinking about it."

"In good time." She opened the CD player. "Let's get started."

* * *

Hearing year after year of new music was almost overwhelming. She would come over every evening and they would listen, switching to a new decade after three days or so. He didn't mind rock and roll, but the heavy rock made him hesitant. Dubstep and techno and such didn't suit his fancy either; if he as honest, he really didn't like any music after the 60's. He felt much more comfortable with the music he grew up with, although he did like artists like Bobby Darin and Dean Martin, and he was pleased where Frank Sinatra went.

Natasha would smile at his reactions. She could tell he lost interest after his era was done and over, but it was always entertaining when she introduced him to the music that was way out of his comfort zone. It was also amusing to wash his shocked reactions to the vulgarity of today's music.

"Steve," she asked one day as they were almost done. "When's your birthday?"

"You're going to laugh."

"No I'm not."

He sighed. "July 4th."

A smile broke out on her face.

"You said you weren't going to laugh."

"I'm not, I'm not. It's just like fate planned for you to be Captain America."

"I know." He rolled his eyes.

The song ended. Turning her attention to the CD player, she announced, "Well, that's that."

He closed his eyes and leaned back. "What happened?"

"That's what a lot of people ask."

"I don't want to be mean, but today's music…."

"I know. I'm personally not a fan."

He sighed. "To each his own, right?"

"To each his own," she agreed.

She stood up, unplugging and picking the CD player.

"It was nice seeing you," he said.

"It was nice teaching you," she replied, heading for the door.

He scrambled to beat her there, opening it up. "See you tomorrow."

"Later, Steve."

As she as leaving, he said, "Wait."

She turned around. "Hm?"

"Can… can we hang out again sometime?" he asked.

"Steve, I would love too."

He leaned in to her before hesitating and leaning back. "See you later."

He closed the door behind her, leaving her to wonder what he had to think about for a moment before saying goodbye.


	17. The Retirement Home

"Hey, Steve."

Steve turned around to see the redhead come towards him, her curls bobbing. He smiled. "What brings you here, Natasha?"

"I have an idea."

"What would that be?" He closed the file he was looking at.

"Let's go find some World War II veterans."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I thought maybe… you would like that."

His eyes were following a passing intern in the SHIELD hallway. He wanted to say yes, but he was so nervous. What if he saw someone that he knew? How was he going to react? What would he say and do?

"Steve?"

He turned back to Natasha. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" Concern flashed through her eyes.

"Um, yeah." He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, we can do this."

"Are you sure about that, Steve?" she asked. "I mean, if it bothers you then we don't have too."

"No, I want too." He gave her a reassuring smile.

Natasha dropped her doubting thoughts. She would figure it out soon enough.

* * *

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous standing outside of the retirement home. They were here as volunteers in the kitchen. "You ready?"

Thoughts racing through his head made him doubt his people and cooking skills even more than he already did. "Yep."

They headed inside. The receptionist smiled at them as they entered. "Hi, are you here as volunteers?"

"Yeah. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers."

The receptionist checked her computer. "Sure thing. Go through that hallway and go through the second hallway on the right." She unlocked the door to the hallway.

"Thank you," Natasha said. Steve gave a smile to the receptionist. She gave a smitten smile in return.

* * *

After they received their instructions, they went out to help the elderly. Steve took a breath as took his place behind the food bar. It was strange watching Natasha smile like a chirpy, upbeat girl instead of being the silent killer she always was. Steve tried his best to imitate her.

As he shoveled some of the food on a man's plate, the man froze and stared at him. "Steve Rogers, is that you?"

Steve froze. "Ken?"

"It is you, Steve!" he exclaimed. "They found you! They really found you!"

Steve felt the corner of his eyes get warm. He quickly scratched his eye to make sure no tears fell over. "Ken, how's life been?"

"Too long," he sighed. He looked over at the line behind him. "Can you join me at the table over there?"

Steve looked over at Natasha. Natasha nodded. "I'll cover for you."

Taking off his apron and gloves, he exited the kitchen and followed Ken as he hobbled over to his table. "Need any help?" Steve asked.

"No, I'm fine." He gave a raspy laugh as he sat down. "Well, Steve Rogers," he started as he picked up his fork, "it is good to see you."

"And it's great to see you too," Steve responded. "You seem like you're in great condition."

"I do, don't I?" Ken responded. "I can dress myself—except for shoes—and I can feed myself and walk by myself and do all sorts of things. Yet for some reason I've been stuck in here."

"How long have you been here for?"

"Three years," Ken responded, putting food in his mouth. He chewed it for a while before continuing. "My family decided they didn't want me to living around by myself and they put me in here."

"Oh," Steve said. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. My daughter never liked me much anyways."

"Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?"

Ken swallowed his food. "I was an alcoholic. She didn't like that I was always drunk. Then she got into drugs herself for a little while." He shrugged. "I learned to get over it. I had three wives in over fifty-three years, and when my last one died my daughter decided to move me with all the rest of the geezers."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," Ken said again. "I'm more interested to hear about you."

Steve sighed and leaned back. "There's not much to say. I landed a plane in ice to keep it from blowing up New York and I froze for seventy years. I woke up in New York, was told I was out of my time, saved Manhattan from an alien attack, and now I'm here."

"Who's the redhead?"

Steve looked over at Natasha, still smiling and giving food. "Her? That's Natasha."

"Woo wee," Ken said. "That is one nice-looking doll." He looked over at Steve mischievously. "You two…?"

Steve looked at Ken. "No, no," he said quickly. "We're nothing."

"Steve, you're a bad liar."

"But I'm not lying."

Ken looked back at Natasha. "Having hundreds of girls myself, I can tell when a girl likes you as a friend, and then _genuinely _feels something. And that, my friend, is a look no man can deny."

Natasha looked over at Steve, her smile growing. Steve's heart leapt.

"And you, my friend, look like a lovesick puppy."

Steve jumped out of his thoughts, clearing his throat. "What?"

Ken smiled. "Make your move. I'm sure she's a one-of-a-kind gal."

"That's an understatement," Steve said. "She's… so much more."

Ken looked back down at his food. "Steve, it was nice talking to you," he said, the same smile on his face. "Come back some time, will you?"

"Of course." Steve shook his hand. "I miss you guys so much."

"And you too, Captain." Ken gave a small salute. "Until then, go capture that gal's heart."

"Yes, sir." Steve caught Natasha's smile at another veteran and he knew his mission.


	18. Nightmares and Letters

He was lost in a cloud of smoke. Panting, he ran forward through the battleground, looking back and forth for an ally. The barren wasteland seemed to be free of anybody he could rely on. Straining his eyes, he stopped and looked around. Discouraged when he found nothing, he started again.

After a few minutes of running, something caught his eye. He stopped and looked over. There was a pile of what to seem to be cloth. Slowly, he crept towards it. As the object came into view, he screamed, falling back onto the ground. He clutched at his eyes, the faces of his dead friends coming into view.

Sobbing, he felt something touch his shoulder. "Steve," a woman's voice murmured.

He looked up to see Peggy's strong face looking into his. "Oh, Peggy, you're here," he said trying to compose himself.

The scene changed for a split second to her laughing in a different place before flashing back to the battleground. "Steve, what are you doing here?"

"Peggy, I'm a soldier." The scene flashed for a split second again, her smile radiating before flipping back to the issue at hand.

"Give it up Steve. No one cares," Peggy said.

"What?"

The scene flipped again for a little while longer before changing back. Peggy was laughing, spinning around in a grassy area. "No cares about Steve Rogers. You're nothing. You're absolutely pathetic."

"Peggy," he whispered, clutching her hand.

She shook it away. Her face turned into the face in his flashes before turning back into the heartless, cold face. "Goodbye, Steve." She turned away.

"Peggy!" he exclaimed, running after her. "Peggy!" The fog consumed her, and suddenly he was falling. Time went slow, his senses almost completely numb and his mind blank into he landed with a hard _thud_. Looking around, he screamed again as he saw the lifeless bodies of his friends. "Let me out!" he screamed.

An arm grabbed him out of the pile. Slowly, Bucky raised up, his face gaunt and expression solemn. "Didn't you hear her?" he spat. "Nobody cares, Steve. You're supposed to be dead."

The words echoed in his ears as the world faded.

* * *

His eyes snapped open with a start, his heart beating fast in his chest. Falling out of his bed, he quickly stood up and ran to his phone before pounding in a number. Right before he hit "send", he looked at the clock. 2:47.

Looking back at the phone, he realized he had dialed Natasha's number. He closed his eyes, a painful expression on his face. She wouldn't care, either.

This was the first time he actually could remember his nightmare. He hadn't had one in weeks. Still frightened, he went out into the main room of his apartment and flipped on his light. He turned on the TV, but he couldn't calm down. The faces of his friends haunted his memory although they were only figments his mind came up with. But Bucky and Peggy were there, telling him he didn't matter….

He found himself at his radio, putting in a CD Natasha had gotten him. Instantly, he found himself calming down. His breathing slowing, he grabbed a piece of paper.

_Dear Natasha,_

_Well… I need to talk to you. Not urgently, which is why I'm sending this by actual mail. Something happened and I was going to call you but I decided not too and I need to know if you really care or not._

_ Please respond. I need someone to talk to._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

Steve studied the letter a few times before changing something.

_Love,_

_Steve_


	19. Snow Fight

"Steve, it's snowing!"

It was amusing to hear the excitement in her voice through the phone. Steve looked out the window to his balcony where snow was building up. "Didn't you live in Russia?"

"Okay, so I have a thing for snow."

He smiled for moment. "You're not sick of it?"

"Not one bit," she said. "I would do anything to do a snow angel right now."

"A grow superspy doing a snow angel?" he asked.

"Don't judge. You want to meet up and do something?"

Steve paused for a moment, watching the snowflakes fall. "Sure. When?"

"How 'bout at noon?"

"Today?"

"Is that a problem?"

A large grin spread cross his face. "Not at all. Want me to meet you at your place?"

"Nah, I'll come over to yours."

"Okay, see you then. Bye."

"Bye!"

Her phone clicked on the other end. Steve put his phone down and went to his closest.

Snow. He felt a tad bit fearful inside. After all, he was frozen for seventy or something years. He knew he wasn't going to do that again and that everything was going to be okay, but it was that initial fear. Those powerful feelings from the experience came and went at least once a week. All those times he clutched at his sink, trying to clean himself up but never could. The thing was the sink couldn't fix memories. The sink could only put water on his face.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he pulled out warm clothes and started changing. Natasha lived about twenty minutes away. He had time.

After putting his clothes on, he went and combed through his hair. When he noticed he had been in the bathroom for a while combing his hair, he laughed, admitting to himself that he was rather obsessive with his hair when it came do these things.

Finally, he put on cologne. Natasha knocked on his door after he had finished. "Coming," he said, opening the door.

Natasha smiled up at him, wearing a soft, maroon coat. "You ready?"

Steve nodded. "Let's go."

"You don't mind if we hang outside, do you?"

He hesitated for a brief moment. "That's fine."

Natasha either didn't hear the hesitation in his voice or ignored it because she said, "Great. To the park it is."

* * *

The fountain was frozen over, icicles hanging from the edges, making it look even more wondrous than before. It was strange seeing the park so empty, though. Natasha and Steve had only seen two people throughout their whole walk. Steve remembered their park date back in October. Had it really been two months ago when they strolled through here, watching kids play and lovers stroll and dogs bark?

"It's weird," Natasha commented out loud. "Seeing nobody here, I mean."

Steve looked over at her. "You just read my mind."

"I like it," she said. "Nobody can watch you like a zoo animal."

"Were people doing that before?"

She thought over what she was going to say for a moment. "You know how people walk by, and you watch them, just because you have nothing better to do, not because you're genuinely interested in what they're doing?"

"Yeah?"

"That's what I mean," she finished.

Steve looked around at the abandoned, snowy park. "So, if no one is watching us, does that mean I can do this?" He picked up some snow and threw it at Natasha.

She gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. "Steve!"

"What?" he said innocently. Inside, he was that he didn't end up on a missing persons list.

She didn't say anything at first; instead, she stared at him for a few moments before swiftly bending down and throwing snow right in his face. He sputtered, trying to wipe it off as he heard her run as fast as the frosty ground would let her.

"Natasha, you come back here!" he said, running after her.

Natasha was grinning like a mad man as she threw another hunk of snow at Steve. He attempted to dodge it, only to be hit on the right arm. "Okay, you asked for it!" he shouted, bending down and grabbing a huge pile of snow.

She squealed as it came showering towards her. The snow doused her hat and jacket, falling softly by her feet. She blew air through her mouth, snow shooting off her lips. "Rogers," she said, maliciously.

"Oh, dear." Steve turned to make a run for it, only to be pursued by Natasha, hands full of snow. He felt the hard impact of the contents in her hand hit his back.

"Don't you know better than to try and run from me?" Natasha said, standing there with hands on her hips.

He turned around. "Can I do this, then?" He lunged towards her, grabbing her arm and falling backwards into the snow. She let out a cry as she fell backwards. As soon as they landed, they both got silent for a moment, their breathing a little faster because of the cold air and running.

Then she laughed.

The hair prickled on Steve's arms as she laughed. It was an enchanting, mesmerizing sound. He quickly sat up to see her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open wide. The sides of her mouth were creased in the perfect spots, her hair dripping with snow and sprawled behind her head. Her chest moved up and down with each laugh. He watched her, taking in the laugh, feeling extremely happy. He laughed himself. Soon, she was sitting up.

"Look at us. We look like idiots," she said merrily.

"Two maniacs in the middle of a snow drift in a deserted park," Steve added.

Natasha's laughs started to fade. Their eyes locked on each others. Steve grew silent as well, staring into her eyes. His breathing grew heavier. Her lips looked so soft and beautiful, her eyes so captivating, her face so bright. If only he could put his lips on hers, wrap his arms around her waist….

"I never heard you laugh before," he said softly.

The passion in her eyes seemed to fade as he talked. "Oh, yeah," she said. "I don't laugh much these days."

"You told me that before," he said. "I'm really glad I got you to laugh."

"Why?" she asked.

"Now I know another part of you," he said. "I found the fun, childlike side of Natasha Romanoff."

She sighed. "Good luck, Steve. I'm hard to figure out."

"That's why my mission is unlocking Natasha Romanoff," he murmured.

She didn't say anything for a moment. "Why?" she asked. "What's so special about me?"

"I could tell you a lot of things," Steve said timidly. "But I can't put my finger on why you're so special. Natasha, I… I really like you."

She looked a tad bit taken aback. "You…."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel awkward," Steve said. "If you don't want to do that, then… I…."

"Shh." She smiled. "I like you too."

"But—"

"I _really _like you."

Steve gave a small smile before looking away. The park was absolutely quiet.


	20. Christmas

He couldn't help but smile every time he thought about it. The way the snowflakes clung to her long eyelashes, the slight rose tint in her cheeks, the way her eyes creased when she laughed… it stayed fresh in his mind. Although it had been a few weeks, when he saw Natasha he thought of them collapsing into the snow. He could swear he caught a smile back from her.

But now it was Christmastime. Natasha knocked on his door on December 20. As he opened it, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "Come with me."

He didn't question her; he grabbed his jacket and left, following her into her car. After he settled into the passenger seat, he looked over and finally asked, "What are we doing?"

"Going window shopping." She sent him a devious look. "I knew you wouldn't come if I asked you."

"I would've come," Steve said rather unenthusiastically.

"No you wouldn't have," Natasha replied simply as they drove down the street. "Very few guys actually like shopping, and I assume you are not one of them."

Steve gave a sheepish smile back.

"Lucky for you," Natasha continued, "I'm not one of those girls obsessed with shopping."

"Then why are we window shopping?" Steve asked.

"Consider it another one of our unofficial dates."

"Unofficial?" Steve asked, a bit surprised at her slightly blunt response.

Natasha looked at Steve for a moment. "Or official, if you want it to be."

Steve paused for a moment. "I don't know. Does it really matter?"

"I guess not. Either way, it's a date, right?"

"Right… I guess."

Natasha gave a small grin. "Let's just call it an outing."

"That sounds good. Keeps Tony off our trail, too."

Rolling her eyes, Natasha said, "Tony. He's been driving me nuts. Apparently he found out about the CD stuff and has been questioning me endlessly."

"Why not me?"

"It's weird to explain," Natasha told him. "It's something like he knows I would be the one who definitely knows if something… more than just being friends is up. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Steve thought about it for a second. "I sort of do."

"I'm not the one to fall in love."

"And I am?" Natasha and Steve stayed quiet for a moment. "How about you don't answer that."

Natasha smiled again. "Oh, Steve."

They pulled up to a strip mall, people bustling around. Snow that had been lucky enough to not be cleared hung under shop roofs; benches were frozen over and the fountain in the middle barely trickled. As Steve left the car, he watched his breath turned into what looked like a little puff of smoke before evaporating into the air. He smiled. "I remember watching my breath when it was really cold out when I was little. It would always be right before Christmas and I would stand outside for as long as my mom would let me, playing in the snow and hoping maybe that year I would get something for Christmas."

"I did the same thing with my breath too when I was _really _little," Natasha responded. "But I never really thought about Christmas."

Steve shrugged. "I just wished maybe that year I would get something a little bit bigger than the last. The biggest thing I got was a sketchbook and pencils one year." He smiled. "I was so happy that day."

Natasha gave a smile back before woman carrying large bags bumped into her. "I'm terribly sorry!" she told Natasha. A few things slipped from her grip, hitting the ground. The contents spilled out. "Oh, dear," the woman sighed, bending over.

Steve was next to her in a split second, helping her collect her things. "Is that all?" he asked, handing her the things.

"Yes, I think so." She scooped them into the bags before looking up at Steve. "Thank you, young man," she said. Steve helped her up. "I'm sorry again," she told Natasha, "but I have a terrible habit of spoiling my grandkids—to a point where I can't see over the things I bought them." She gave a laugh.

Natasha smiled back. "It's alright."

"I hope you and your grandkids have a wonderful holiday," Steve told her.

The woman smiled. "Aren't you sweet? They don't make men like you anymore." Nodding her head, she turned and left.

"You're too nice, Steve," Natasha said with a smile.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not at all. It's cute." Natasha turned, missing the pink creeping into Steve's cheeks. "Oh, look at that!" she exclaimed, pointing at a mannequin in a window. Steve followed her over. "I love that jacket," Natasha sighed.

"So, we see the girl in Natasha Romanoff," Steve teased.

She stuck her tongue out playfully at him. "It's one thing."

After leaving that, they headed past the different stores, occasionally going in a few. Natasha turned to Steve at one point and asked him, "What do you want for Christmas?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

"Oh, come on Steve," Natasha said, a smile creeping on her lips. "Isn't there something you miss from the time before you were frozen?"

He thought over it for a moment. "I honestly don't know. I miss everything," he answered, his voice empty.

Natasha looked away, her mind whirring as she thought over things he had before. Glancing back over at him, she said, "It's getting late. You want to go back home?"

"That's fine." He grinned, although there was sadness in his eyes. "This was more fun than I thought."

"Aren't you glad I didn't tell you in advance?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

Natasha grinned, walking back towards her car. "Steve, on Christmas, come on over to my place at noon. We can eat lunch together."

Steve nodded, the pain from his memories earlier being replaced with a happier look. "That sounds good."

* * *

The days between, Natasha had come over and set up a Christmas tree in his apartment, complete with a star and a few ornaments, including American symbolisms and things relating to his interests. He especially enjoyed the one of an open sketchbook with an unfinished portrait inside. It looked so realistic, as if eagerly waiting to be finished.

After she had finished put up the tree, Steve gave her a rather light lecture to stop buying him things that he could get well on his own, but she sent him a look that told him she was going to do what she wanted to do. He knew it was pointless before he even started; after all, she was Natasha Romanoff, and this was one of the many things she did to put him under her unyielding spell.

He had counted the days down until Christmas; then it was hours, and then it was minutes. Soon, he found himself knocking on her front door.

Natasha opened it, wearing a maroon turtleneck sweater. "Merry Christmas, Steve!" she said, allowing him to step in.

He held his arm out, a present wrapped in silver paper and a red bow in his hand. "For you."

"Me?" She took it. "You're not supposed to buy me a present."

"And you weren't supposed to set up a Christmas tree complete with ornaments," he responded.

"Touché." She smiled. "I got you a present too." Reaching out to the table behind her, she grabbed a present with metallic blue swirls on a dark blue background and handed it to him.

"Natasha, you've done enough for me already."

"I don't care. I want you to open your present first."

Steve knew it was no point in fighting. His fingers gripped the wrapping paper, tearing it apart to reveal a cardboard box. As he took the tape off of that, he let out a gasp as he saw what was inside.

There were pictures. Pictures of all the friends he had lost. Pictures of him in action. She even had managed to get current pictures inside, including newspaper snippets about him from a long time ago and about the Avengers.

Behind the photo album was a sketchbook with a pack of drawing pencils. As he lifted that out of the box, he saw a letter with his name written in cursive.

"Read that later," she told him.

Steve looked up at her, saying nothing for a few moments. "Natasha, I…." He smiled widely. "Thank you so much."

She nodded, smiling back. "All you need now is a picture of us."

He nodded his head in agreement as she picked up her camera. "Wait, what about your present?"

"Oh, yes." Steve took the camera from her hands, quickly going over the array of buttons and finding what looked to be the button to take a picture. Natasha had already taken the wrapping paper off as Steve held the camera up so it could see both of their faces. "Steve, you shouldn't have!" Natasha exclaimed, holding up the jacket she had been admiring a few nights ago. She hugged his neck, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. Quickly, he snapped a picture of them. Natasha let go, her mouth open. "Did you just take a picture?" she asked, amusement on her face.

"For the album," he answered.

Natasha grabbed the camera from his hands. "Let's take another." Standing on her tiptoes again, she leaned by him and took a picture.

The other end of the camera showed the picture of two smiling people who hadn't a worry in the world.

* * *

That night, as Steve got ready for bed, he hesitantly opened the drawer where the drawings of Natasha were kept. His hands went through the multiple sketches, each one different from the rest. The sketchbook he received from Natasha was in his other hand, and his thumb ran over it as he knew there were more sketches to come.

He paused as a crumpled piece of paper caught his eye. Unfolding it, he read:

"_Dear Natasha,_

_Well… I need to talk to you. Not urgently, which is why I'm sending this by actual mail. Something happened and I was going to call you but I decided not too and I need to know if you really care or not._

_Please respond. I need someone to talk to._

_Love,_

_Steve"_

He had never sent it. He read through it time after time, remembering the fear the nightmare that made him write that had caused him, and for a moment he considered talking to Natasha about it.

He couldn't.

Brushing it off, he sat on his bed, picking up the photo album and looking through it. How she got everything in here, he would never know. But what mattered was the fact that it was there with him, and that he would have pictures of her and him in it soon.

His heart didn't feel heavy anymore as he saw Peggy's and Bucky's faces.


	21. Stargazing

March was settling in when Steve called up Natasha, requesting she go somewhere with him. They hadn't seen each other outside of SHIELD since a little after New Year's when they went to Tony's place. The party was dismantled after an incident with Thor, who visited from Asgard to see them, engaged in a drinking competition of Tony.

Steve, however, had sent a sketch of Natasha and him, modeled after the picture from Christmastime on Valentine's Day. Since then, he had been planning a date. His nightmares had ceased ever since he and Natasha had been outing with each other, but the protection the presence of Natasha created were wearing off. When he woke up crying again, he knew it was time.

And so he picked up the phone.

* * *

It was eight o'clock when Steve showed up at Natasha's door, smiling and holding out a helmet. "I want to take you somewhere," he said. She gave him a questioning look before grabbing the helmet. Steve took her hand, pulling her lightly behind him down the stairs.

"Steve, what are you doing?" she asked, a smirk on her face.

"I'm taking you out on my motorcycle." He waved his hand at the motorcycle across the parking lot as they exited the apartment building. To the back he had attached a picnic blanket.

Natasha didn't say anything. Instead, her smile grew as she followed him, position herself behind him as he sat down. "You ready?" he asked.

She answered by letting her arms relax around him and resting her chin on his shoulder.

Steve pulled out of the parking lot, heading down the street. Wind blowing in her face, Natasha closed her eyes and let a content grin spread across her face. Steve wished he could look behind him to see how beautiful she was as the sun teetered between shining and resting for the night, but he would have to wait.

The way her arms wrapped around his waist sent a tingle up his spine. He felt warm as he felt her hair brush against his head, or the way she seemed to be free as she leaned against him. Steve couldn't help but wonder if _this _was really the true Natasha Romanoff; if she was taking her many masks off and showing him who she really was inside.

It thrilled him.

As the sky was a dusky blue, he pulled up to grassy area somewhere away from the city. Natasha reluctantly let go of him, her eyes opening to see where they were. Steve waited for her to get off the seat before he did so himself, reaching back to grab the picnic basket. In the corner of her eye, she watched him unclasp the basket and spread a blanket on the ground.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Remember that first date when you told me you liked looking at the stars?"

"A long time ago," she sighed.

"It's never too late to start again," he answered, pointing a hand at the sky. The faint light of stars were already starting to shine through. Natasha looked up, her eyes sparkling. There were no city lights or anything to obstruct their view.

She took a seat next to him to be handed a sandwich. "Until the stars are completely ready," he explained. Giving a small smile, she took it. They ate in silence, looking away from each other most of the time. While they did so, the sky darkened even more, and the stars were now prepared to be viewed.

They both watched the show being played above them, a silent film that was still able to tell such a magnificent story. Steve wondered if maybe, somewhere written in the stars, was a tale about a man out of his time and a woman that could kill a man in ways that could make your head spin could somehow find love in each other.

Sighing, he laid back. He suddenly felt her head lean against his arm. Stretching his arm out, he let her situate herself before wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Natasha… do you believe in fate?"

She was silent for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Like…." He thought for a moment. "We're not in control for any mistakes we make or any good things we do or anything."

"'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,'" she started, "'but in ourselves.'"

"Shakespeare," he murmured. "So… is that what you think?"

"I don't know Steve," she said quietly. "I would like to hope that it could be, but I can't believe in such silly things."

"How about true love?"

Natasha stayed even quieter than after the first question. "I've told you about that, Steve."

"You never said if you believed in it."

She sat up, her shoulders slumped over. "I'm not a little kid. I don't think I'm a princess and there's no prince to save me. True love disappeared with those."

Pushing himself up too, he answered, "It doesn't have to be kid stuff."

Their eyes met, her mouth slightly open, as if uncertain whether or not to reply.

And then her lips were on his.

It surprised him how gentle it was, rather than the fierceness he expected. The kiss was timid, almost scared of itself, yet carried enough confidence to send a message loud and clear that there was _something_.

She pulled away from him, her mouth gaped again, her eyes burning into his. "Steve, I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I don't know if—"

He kissed her again.


	22. Raindrops

Seeing Natasha on his doorstep came as a surprise. She hadn't told him in advance that she would how up, yet there she was, no expression on her face as she stared Steve in the eye. Her arm stretched out, a folder in her hand. Steve looked down at it. "What's this?"

"Just open it," she said.

Hesitantly, he took it from her. His fingers slowly grasped the cover of the folder and flipped it open.

He froze as he saw Peggy's face.

Natasha didn't flinch as Steve sent her a mixed look. His mind raced; there was pain and sadness yet happiness too that he got to see her beautiful face again. "Natasha—"

"This is a copy," she explained. "They said you could keep it."

Steve looked back down at the file. There were informational pieces, reports, pictures, and so on. It seemed like hours as he sifted through the papers, pausing to take in each one, even if he wasn't reading. A question was gnawing at the back of his mind, but he was too scared to ask it. As he went back to the first page, he couldn't bear looking down and finding his answer.

Finally he asked. "Is she…?"

"I'm sorry, Steve."

His throat tightened. "It figures." He backed away from the doorway, letting Natasha enter as he put the file down on the table. "It figures," he repeated.

"Steve, I'm sorry if I upset you, but I felt like you just needed to know."

Eyes red, he looked up at Natasha. "Don't worry Natasha. And thank you," he added.

She gave a nod.

He hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "Natasha, I want to talk about… us."

"Is there an us?" she sighed.

"That's why I want to talk." He slid her hands into his. "I haven't felt like this since Peggy, and… I want to know if you felt like that back."

Natasha had her eyes on the floor. "Steve… I like you. But I'm not sure if I should've kissed you and led you on like that because…."

"You've been hurt."

Her eyes met his briefly. "Something like that."

"I would never hurt you, Natasha. Won't you trust me?"

Natasha stayed silent. "I…." Her voice dropped. Suddenly her arms were around him, face buried in his chest. He felt tears seep through the fabric of his shirt.

"Natasha, don't cry," he said softly.

"Oh Steve," she cried.

He hugged her, letting her cry. Stroking her hair, he couldn't help but feel a little frightened. Natasha Romanoff, the women incapable of feelings, was crying.

"Natasha," he said. She looked up, a stray tear on her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "If you want me to stop, we can forget everything and just be friends."

"Is that even possible?" she asked. "I mean… after everything—"

"I'll let you decide."

Once again her gaze drifted away from him for a moment. Then, standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him softly on his lips. "I guess we've gone too far to turn back."

"I'm okay with that," he murmured, taking her in his arms and kissing her again, lingering on her lips a bit longer than she had on his. She pulled away from him, nuzzling her head again into his chest. He looked out of the door that went to his little balcony, seeing storm clouds above and raindrops hitting the glass.

"Thanks again for the folder," he said quietly.

"Mm." She didn't move.

They lost track of time.


	23. Night Song

**A/N: Hello readers! First I want to thank everyone so, so much for all your positive feedback! You don't know how happy I am when I come on and see somebody telling me how much they love this story. I love you all! :)**

**Secondly, I'm here to say that I want to pick up and make things more intimate soon. My little fangirl heart is screaming to let loose and do what I want. Just warning you in advance so it won't seem like they just get randomly intense romantically super fast.**

**Thanks again for reading!**

* * *

It had been a two months since that rainy day in Steve's apartment when Natasha's flawless mask broke. The news of their relationship broke free after a few weeks and spread throughout SHIELD. It was no longer a secret anymore; Natasha and Steve now were sometimes caught with their fingers entwined, holding each other close as they held their breaths and closed their eyes, and even occasionally an intern would pass by the gym and see the two kissing each other sweetly.

Steve had felt so dizzy this whole time. The thought of Natasha intoxicated him. When he could touch her, smell the sweet aroma of her perfume, or feel how soft her lips were he imagined it as what being drunk would feel. He didn't know what to do with himself; everything was going so fast.

He loved every second of it.

* * *

At his apartment, he found all the sketches. He had abandoned drawing ever since he and Natasha started getting close. Nightmares rarely came, and it was no longer a need.

Then the letter. That one letter he had never sent but written to her oh so long ago when neither of them knew how much they wanted the other nor the blissfulness that came from being still in each other's arms. It was strange reading over it; it was like a memoir from a person who didn't exist anymore. Steve read of a man in love with a woman who he was too scared to be with—too scared to do anything, really.

He didn't want to be that man anymore.

* * *

Natasha showed up at his apartment a few minutes after he called, leaving him to wonder if she did anything else. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, setting her purse down.

Steve paused for a moment. "Mind sitting down?"

She led the way to his couch, crossing her legs as she sat down. "Is this something I should be worried about?"

"No." He gave a weak grin. "Just something I feel like I should tell you about."

Something flickered in Natasha's eyes. It looked like uncertainty. "Go on."

He struggled to start. "Natasha, before… you and I, I had these nightmares. They were terrible. They plagued me every night, leaving me to cry and feel so weak. But then… I noticed something. I saw you one day, and something stirred inside, and when I was around you, I was so happy—happy enough where just the thought of you could protect me that night. So you being with me… leaves me ecstatic and breathless and however else you feel when you get off a roller coaster."

Steve caught a small smile from Natasha.

"And… I know this doesn't sound like much, but Natasha… just know I really care about you."

Natasha didn't say anything. Instead, she stood up and went over to the plethora of CDs he had swamping his CD player. "Bobby Darin, huh?" she asked simply. "You really like him?"

Steve, unsure of what she was doing, answered with, "Uh-huh."

Her fingers sifted through the CDs she had gotten him, resting on one before taking it out and putting in the CD player. "Come dance with me," she told him.

He felt his face get red. "Um, I can't—"

"That's an order, Captain."

Standing up, he had to grin. He took her hand, started to move with her. "Doesn't the male usually lead?" he teased.

"I like to shake things up." She smirked.

They danced for songs, each one letting them get a little more energized, a little more intense, a little more excellent, a little more intimate.

A song with a crescendo of violins came on. Natasha slowed down suddenly, although it wasn't a necessarily a slow song. Steve slowed down as well. Her head rested on his chest, palms lightly pressed against his biceps. As they silently rocked, Steve listened to the lyrics.

_…Where do you go, when you feel like your brain is on fire?_

_ Where do you go, when you don't even know what it is you desire?_

He had heard this song before, but only as background music. The lyrics were a thing he never picked up on.

_…Music, but a lonely song_

_ When you can't help but wondering_

_ Where do I belong?_

Looking down at Natasha, something clicked. They were two people who had their fates predetermined for them. They were supposed to do whatever the authority told them to do because that was how they were built. Natasha to kill people originally, but now in a more civil sense. He himself was supposed to save and represent America.

But although they acted strong, they were just two wandering souls, uncertain of where to go or what to do because they didn't have identities themselves. They couldn't unlock the secrets that they should already know, or listen to what they thought themselves.

And maybe finding each other was the best thing.

"I liked that song," Natasha murmured. "What was it called?"

"'Night Song,'" Steve answered softly.

Natasha let out a content sigh. "I wish we could listen to that song and dance for hours and hours."

"Anything you want." He kissed the top of her head, letting her go to repeat it.

That night it ended up as their song.

* * *

**A/N (again): Ta da! Now you know why this story is called "Night Song". It's kind of my personal song for these two, hence the reason I used it for this as well as my story title. It's not a romantic song, but at the same time, I just sort of connect them to that.**

**If you're interested in hearing it, it's on Youtube. It's an old Bobby Darin song, 1965 I believe. It's a wonderful tune, and I'm not just saying that because Bobby Darin is my favorite singer. ;)**

**More to come soon!**


	24. June

The days that had morphed months grew cluttered in Steve's mind. He couldn't remember which date had come first or when the first time they met, or at least really talked to, was. But he could always remember the kisses they had shared.

They were on his couch, she leaning on top of him, kissing him ferociously. Her lips trailed down his neck, her hands gripping his shoulders. He in turn had his hands cupped around her head, giving quick kisses on her cheeks when he found he was able too. His heart beat quickly as came up to give rapid kisses to his ear, pulling her body even closer to his. As she moved her head, he was able to place his lips on hers, and she froze, sitting there for a little while as they kissed sweetly.

When they broke away, she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. He managed to readjust himself under her to prop her up in a more comfortable position. "Is it June?" he asked, his voice breaking the long silence.

"Mm-hmm." She sounded serene.

He smiled softly to himself, kissing the top of her head gently. How long ago had their first date been? Almost a year, at the least. He picked her up, wrapping his arms around her as he maneuvered her to his lap. She responded by moving her head to his other shoulder. The apartment was quiet as Steve slightly rocked her back and forth. He felt her heart beat against his chest and it reminded him that she was real. She wasn't going to disappear into thin air like Peggy. She was going to stay with him.

It seemed like she had fallen asleep. He stopped rocking her for a moment. She stirred and in his ear he heard her mumble, "I love you, Steve."

His heart stopped for a moment as he scrambled to comprehend her words. She had told him numerous times she wasn't going to fall in love again, yet here she was, whispering things in his ear, half-asleep.

Standing up, he carried her to his room and laid her down gently on the bed. Her red curls rested messily on her face, but she looked tranquil in the darkness of his room. Resting against the doorway, he observed the way her chest fell up and down and what position her fingers were settled in to.

Hesitantly, he went over and kissed her forehead. He paused, thinking over if he wanted to say anything or not, but then breathed, "I love you too" before closing the door quietly behind him.

She heard him.


End file.
